


Meanwhile, In A Venezuelan Port...

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Oregon Files - Clive Cussler
Genre: Character Death Fix, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Fast & Furious. Brian never did learn how to keep a low profile, but that's okay. The Corporation is made up of good guys wearing black hats provided by society; he'll fit right in. Several things converge at once, but Dom's used to that by now. Fast & Furious / Oregon Files crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meanwhile, In A Venezuelan Port...

**LaGuaira, Venezuela:**

Crouched behind a wall of oil barrels packed with cocaine, cradling a Venezuelan-constructed Kalashnikov that shouldn't exist, Dominic Toretto had a brief moment's respite.

And in that brief moment, he thought: _my life is too fucking complicated._

Five hundred feet away on the water off the dock, Dom heard the barking of other automatic weapons. Some sounded like the Kalashnikov he'd just recently learned to operate. The air was thick with smoke and angry voices as the battle raged on the deck of the rusting tramp steamer anchored nearby. Anyone gunning for him off the deck of _The Oregon_ wouldn't touch those barrels if the Virgin Mary offered ice cream and absolution on the other side. Unfortunately, he didn't expect friendly fire to take such precautions, and a stray bullet would rip through the plastic bags of cocaine inside like cotton candy.

Time to move. Ducking as low as his center of gravity would allow, Dom scrambled across the dock towards thicker defenses, pursued by a hail of gunfire. He swerved sharply as the dock came to an abrupt end, and narrowly missed tumbling down the bank of sharp-edged limestone boulders lining the shore. At one time, there had been a tiny food stand for the workers on the busy oil port. The restaurant was boarded up now, and Dom took a flying leap to skid behind the sturdy concrete-block structure shortly before bullets left obscene gouges in the sea-facing wall.

Dom pressed the throat mic strapped collarlike around his neck. "Han. You found Brian yet?"

 _"Yeah yeah, he's with Cabrillo,"_ Han's voice was low. Dom assumed he was whispering. _"Went belowdecks so these yahoos don't find the USS Enterprise they built into this boat."_

Dom registered a flash of relief, followed by a flash of fear. Peeking out from behind the stand, he saw the portside ramp frozen mid-ascent from the side of _The Oregon_. When the Venezuelan guerillas first attempted to invade the ship, _The Oregon's_ crew had been loading several priceless Incan artifacts via that ramp. Taking a half dozen scientists and archaeologists by surprise, the guerillas overpowered the ramp team and would have been in the belly of the ship. Thankfully, Cabrillo and what he called his "General Operations Directors" saw to it that snipers watched over the delivery detail.

Just in case, they said, not mentioning Brian, Dom, Han, and potential reasons why anyone in Venezuela could possibly want to kill them.

Cliff, Larry, and their long-range assault rifles couldn't stop the guerillas entirely, but they backed the men off the ramp just long enough for the crew frantically raising it over their heads.

Dom swung his head around and focused on the battered yellow Scamp he'd noticed on his way to the dock.

He pressed his throat mic again. "Han? Can you get the portside ramp back down?"

 _"Are you crazy?"_ Han's voice sizzled with disbelief.

"One minute. Trust me," Dom replied, "none of those boys'll be getting onboard."

After a few minutes of tense silence, Han responded with a soft _"Yeah."_ In another five minutes, the ramp began groaning the rest of the way to the dock.

"I'm on my way," Dom barked, and ran for the Scamp. He took a long run-up and plowed through the assembly of gun-waving maniacs watching the ramp come down. His tires hopped up onto the metal an inch above the dirt, jarring the car like a nasty pothole.

Flat-nosed and clunky, the ugly yellow hulk screamed down the narrow ramp and into _The Oregon's_ upper hold. Dom went facedown across the front seat. Bullets shattered glass and riddled the back of the car as it went, popping both rear tires, but the ramp was on its way back up and shoveled the car the rest of the way in.

"You really oughta pick boyfriends who won't get you killed, Dom," Han said, no longer whispering. He leaned down from his place at the ramp controls, peering into the gaping, broken driver side window of the Scamp.

Dom grinned fiercely. "That wouldn't be any fun, now, would it?"

"We got bigger problems," Han snapped. He gestured upward, then to the medical team crouched over casualties from the first attack. "The rest of the good guys are on the other side of the ship. We gotta get out of here before somebody comes down looking for the noise you made and find these guys instead."

Dom pulled the Kalashnikov up from the passenger side floorboard and ran for the stairwell with Han just ahead of him. Overhead Dom could hear gunfire bouncing through the thick steel substructure.

They paused at the top step to listen. Silently, Han leaned out and around the corner. He grinned over his shoulder at Dom, easy and dangerous, "Let's go fight the war on drugs."

"Don't make me hit you," Dom warned.


End file.
